


deep in the chambers of this world

by planet_plantagenet



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Angst and Feels, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Death, Other, honestly how do i tag this, i just love the south bosses okay, not as shippy you might think, started out as kind of a joke then became super serious, technically includes spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planet_plantagenet/pseuds/planet_plantagenet
Summary: The HLD discord got me into the crackship of Summoner x Reaper. I tried to write a fic about it. It turned into a surprisingly deep character study.





	deep in the chambers of this world

There were four prototypes in the quest for immortality.

Of course, that wasn’t the extent of the testing. They used dirks, too. They placed them in test tubes and mutated them beyond recognition. And the Blue People. They were an important part of the experiment.

But there were four creatures who they engineered themselves. Created. Crafted expertly. An amalgamation of flesh and machine. Grown in test tubes. All with the same pink blood flowing through their bodies.

Protect the Immortal Cell, and the modules that lead to it. That was their first command, etched into the pathways of their brains. They were given the means to carry out that command. Deadly weapons—exploding spheres of energy, a slew of arrows and bombs, a spinning scythe, a swarm of floating projectiles.

 _A perfect immortal cell was crafted to be imbued within all sentient life._ They were the Sentients.

They were never awoken. Too powerful, perhaps. Or maybe the civilization of their creators crumbled in on itself before they were fully grown.

 *

Reaper remembered watching through his half-formed eye as they were abandoned. The hallways went dark. The sound of chatter and footsteps ceased. There was only the steady pink glow—never faltering or dying.

Then the lizards came, and their curiosity was the death of them. That was the Reaper’s first real memory. They disturbed him. They pressed a button they shouldn’t have. And he came crashing out of his test tube, with only one thought in his mind: protect the Immortal Cell.

 *

Suddenly the lizards were gone, and the South came alive again. Dirks and jumpers were released from their test tubes. Bladebots came back online. The Archer assumed command, and figured out an effective strategy to keep the modules safe. This is how it went for years and years.

Sometimes, strange beings called Drifters would wander into the South. They were swiftly killed.

 *

Much of the time was spent waiting for the next threat to the Immortal Cell to arise. In that time, the Sentients—or the Bosses, as they sometimes called themselves, for they were in charge—had time to figure themselves out.

Where did they come from? The only remnants of their past were scattered memories, or occasional scraps of writing left over from the Librarians who had created them. They could access some old technology, but it didn’t tell them very much. And then there were the rectangular slabs of stone, hidden away in small pockets of the underground. No one knew their origin or their purpose.

 *

They weren’t supposed to feel anything. Emotions weren’t part of their programming. They felt nothing when they killed the lizards. Or the Drifters, for that matter. And yet they were the Sentients, a word that shared a root with _sense, sensitive, sentiment._

 _Sensuality,_ too.

Summoner and Reaper couldn’t help but be drawn to each other. Neither knew why. Perhaps it was because their designated rooms were right next to each other. One could visit the other at any time.

Together, they talked. They posed questions that neither could have thought of alone. They were the first to realize that warp pads could be configured to let them visit other regions. Sharing this knowledge with Archer and Sorcerer, they established ties with the frogs in the East, the birds in the North, and the racoons in the West. All had the same goal (but different motivations). The modules must be protected.

Through the different cultures, they learned more and more. They improved their technology. They provided the other regions with dirks for protection. They learned more about the history of the world. And learned what they should keep away from, what they weren’t supposed to know at all.

They also learned about the concept of romance. And that secretly appealed to Summoner and Reaper. So they tried it out—clumsily, shyly. Privately. Where the others couldn’t see them and judge their actions.

 *

The first new event to happen in a while was when they lost contact with the East. The Archer—who was in charge of these sorts of things, as she was in charge of everything else—didn’t think much of it. The Emperor wasn’t all that skilled with technology. He also wasn’t particularly smart in general. Just smart enough to cause a genocide of the local otter population.

She only became concerned when the North stopped responding. The Hierophant—they were smart. They knew what they were doing. As did their acolytes. Their silence couldn’t just be the result of a technological malfunction.

And then they couldn’t reach the West, either. On its own, that wouldn’t be unusual. The Hanged Man had never liked the South bosses. He tried to avoid them when he could. They never really found out why—something about them reminding him too much of his past. But coupled with the radio silence of the North and East, the Hanged Man’s lack of response was disturbing.

It was only through the stories of lone dirks and robot spiders that the Archer was able to piece together what had happened in the three regions. And only then—despite her promise to herself that she would steer clear of all emotional response—did the Archer feel truly afraid.

 *

Summoner and Reaper were sitting in one of the many underground chambers of the South, admiring the huge, pink test tubes of half-formed creatures that littered the place. Sometimes the creatures within were clearly recognizable—dirks, mostly, and the occasional jumper. But sometimes they were obscured by fog or dirt on the glass, or simply too mutated to tell what they were.

“What do you suppose that one is?” asked the Reaper, pointing a thin finger at an amorphous blob in one of the test tubes.

“A dirk,” said Summoner. It clearly wasn’t.

“Too small for a dirk. Some kind of large snail?”

“Why would it be a snail?”

“I dunno. Kinda looks like it has a shell, y’know?”

Summoner squinted at it. “Might be a scorpion. There are lots of those on the surface.”

Reaper picked up his scythe and activated the long, pink blade. “We could smash it.”

“Smash it??”

“Maybe it’s something cool.”

“It will come out when it’s ready,” said the Summoner confidently. “Who knows, maybe it’ll die if it’s exposed to air. It’s like an egg. We have to wait for it to hatch.”

“Sure,” replied Reaper, not believing him. He sighed and put down his scythe. Summoner watched him, holding him in his gaze for perhaps slightly too long. He was—no, beautiful wasn’t the right word. Nor majestic. Interesting? Aesthetically pleasing?

In the time it took Summoner to fumble for the word in his mind, Reaper had noticed him. “What’re you staring at me for, huh?”

“Can—can I try on your hat?” Summoner blurted.

“What the—”

“It’s a really great hat.”

“Oh.” The Reaper’s hands immediately went to his head. “Well, I suppose. Not sure if it’d fit you, though.”

He removed the hat, revealing his spherical, robotic face underneath. He was right—the hat didn’t quite fit over Summoner’s triangular head, but it could be placed at an angle and stay on.

Reaper laughed. The sound was grating, like rock against metal. “You look ridiculous.”

“Thanks.” Summoner took off the hat and tossed it back to Reaper. He put it on again, and it fit snugly over his head.

“Hey—did you ever see that great picture of us?”

“What picture?”

“You know. The cool one. With Archer looking all badass in the front. I think one of the bladebots took it.”

“Oh yeah, that was cool.”

If Reaper had had a mouth, he would’ve smirked. “And the two of us holding hands in the background.”

But before Summoner could stutter out some sort of embarrassed reply, a sudden hush fell over the room. The dirks and spiders that had been walking aimlessly around the chamber froze, as if listening to something. Then Summoner and Reaper heard it too—a buzz in the hive mind that connected all of the South, letting them communicate through the cybernetic technology in their brains.

“This is the Archer,” came a smooth, low voice through the intercom. “We have just received notice that another Drifter has entered the South. I want everyone to report to their stations immediately.”

The dirks around the chamber broke out of their stupor and hastily scurried away, followed by a spider or two. Reaper and Summoner glanced at each other.

“Furthermore,” continued the Archer, “I want my three fellow bosses to meet me in my room for a quick briefing.”

The connection fizzled out, leaving the two in complete silence.

“Well,” said the Reaper in a monotone voice, “guess we’d better do what she says.”

 *

The four bosses of the South met in Archer’s room—the huge chamber with the fancy door.

“Another Drifter,” muttered the Sorcerer. “That last one was hard enough.”

“We managed to kill that one,” Archer reminded him, “but this one will certainly be more difficult. I assume you’ve heard about the destruction they’ve caused.”

All too well. This Drifter had somehow defeated the Emperor in the East, the Hierophant in the North, and even the Hanged Man in the West. _And_ collected at least four modules from each region. Single-handedly. They were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

“Well,” said the Reaper, a hint of arrogance in his voice, “there are four of us. I’d like to see them try to get through us all.”

Archer almost reminded him that the Drifter had been collecting and purchasing more and more advanced technology, but decided against it. A little overconfidence could be useful, she supposed.

“All of you know where to go,” she said. “Protect the modules at all costs.”

Summoner raised an arm. “I’ve got a false module in my room that I can hide in. Do you think that would be an effective strategy?”

Archer nodded thoughtfully. “Certainly. And if you attack quickly, you’ll catch the Drifter unawares. Now, get to your stations—we don’t know which direction they’ll choose to go, so you have to stay ready at all times.”

Sorcerer and Reaper nodded, and left. Summoner stayed behind.

“Archer—” he began.

“Yes? Is something wrong?”

“I’m just—” He sighed. “I’m worried about Reaper.”

“Worried,” echoed Archer, clearly not understanding. “Why?”

“Well, he has a lower HP than the rest of us.”

“He also has a quick and effective attack. Your point?”

“Never mind,” Summoner muttered, and tried to leave, but Archer caught his shoulder. Her eye stared into his.

“You know,” she said quietly, “that we aren’t supposed to get _attached_.”

Summoner froze, then nodded slowly. He knew what she meant.

“Any of us could die at any time. As subjects of the Immortal Cell, we have to accept that.”

“Of course,” murmured Summoner.

Archer beckoned him to the door. “Get to your room. You’ll want to be prepared.”

 *

The Sorcerer was waiting for Summoner at the top of the elevator, arms crossed.

“What took you so long?” he growled.

“Talking with Archer.”

Sorcerer studied him for a second, then realized. “Ah! It was about _Reaper_ , wasn’t it? Your _boyfriend_?”

“Shut up.” Summoner activated the elevator. “We all know you have the hots for the Hanged Man.”

The Sorcerer grunted, but didn’t deny it. He muttered something about crystals that Summoner _really_ did not want to hear.

 *

Reaper hopped around his room, twirling his scythe in an effort to keep his mind off everything. They didn’t know which elevator the Drifter would be taking first. Right now, according to some of the robot scouts on the surface, they were just surveying the area, looking for different possible routes.

They’d probably choose the elevator that leads to Summoner and Sorcerer, Reaper thought. That one is closer to their warp pad.

But that could mean that the Summoner was in danger. That was certainly a… distressing thought.

Minutes later, an announcement came over the intercom: the Drifter had chosen the farther elevator. The one with Reaper and Archer.

Well, this was it, then. A bit of the confidence Reaper had summoned earlier had evaporated. If the Drifter had been able to defeat even powerful bosses like the Hanged Man and the Hierophant, what would they do to Reaper, a mini boss at best??

On an instinct, Reaper opened a private comm channel between himself and the Summoner.

“Did you hear?” he whispered. “The Drifter’s heading my way.”

There was silence on the other end. Then finally, Summoner said, “Yeah. I heard.”

“Wonder how they’re doing.”

“Probably pretty well.”

A hollow laugh. “You think?”

“Reaper—” Summoner sighed. “I wish we could team up. Our rooms are literally right next to each other. Wish I could go over there and help you. Maybe we could beat the Drifter if we did that.”

“Maybe,” replied the Reaper, unconvinced. There was another pause. “Summoner?”

“Yeah?”

“We all know we’re not immortal.”

The statement sent an inexplicable shiver down the Summoner’s back. It was the first time someone had really said it. Sure, they’d been prototypes for immortality. But they could be killed, like Archer had told him. They all bled the same pink blood.

“Right,” he whispered.

“But do you suppose there’s an afterlife?”

Summoner laughed. “Maybe for the Hierophant’s cult. You thinking of converting?”

“No, no, of course not. I’m just thinking… we’re cyborgs. Er, I’m a cyborg. My entire brain is hooked up to the Immortal Cell’s network. So when my body dies… do you suppose my brain would keep on going?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s kind of a comforting thought, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

There was a sudden noise from somewhere near the Reaper’s room. He stood still, alert. Artificial heart beating much too fast.

“Summoner?”

“What is it?”

“I think the Drifter’s here.”

 *

Summoner listened to the sounds of Reaper and Drifter’s fight. If he’d been able to breathe, he would’ve been holding his breath. There were clashes of swords, the whirring of a scythe spinning through the air, the blasts of a gun, the whoosh of a dash, the pounding of feet on the cold stone floor. Two types of footsteps. One hurried and light, one strong and angry.

And then there was silence.

“Reaper?” whispered Summoner.

No response.

 *

Archer was ready when the Drifter entered her room. It looked like they’d gotten through Reaper. The Summoner would not be happy. But perhaps his anger would make him fight harder when the time came.

A stray dirk had wandered into Archer’s room. She shot an arrow into its back, then fixed her eye upon the Drifter. They hadn’t moved since entering the room; they simply watched Archer with their perfectly black eyes.

Then suddenly, the Drifter’s body went tense. They shuddered, looking surprisingly weak. Were they finally succumbing to their illness? Archer gripped her bow a little tighter. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to fight. Perhaps a single arrow could kill them, in this state.

But then Drifter’s shadow writhed, convulsed, and twisted into a shape that was certainly not natural. A pink diamond flashed across its face momentarily, a symbol that Archer knew all too well, and that filled her with a sudden, inexplicable fear. And this creature had molded itself into the shape of the Drifter—not a perfect imitation by any measure, but the similarity was striking. Who _were_ they?

Archer shot a slew of arrows at the new shadow creature. They deflected them. Their sword was the exact same as the Drifter’s.

Then both of them were on her. She had not been expecting Drifter to have a companion, let alone some sort of dark shade, who bore the symbol of her master but fought alongside her enemy.

It was a difficult fight, to say the least. The Drifter expertly dodged both her arrows and the explosives that came with them. Their shadow flickered in and out of existence, sometimes going down by an arrow but always reappearing, omnipresent, by the Drifter’s side.

And as the Archer lay dying, pink blood spilling out onto the floor, defeated by this formidable and mysterious pair, she saw the Drifter’s companion vanish back into their shadow.

 *

 _The Archer is dead_ , came the cry over the intercom, and for a second, fear threatened to engulf the Sorcerer’s body. Archer couldn't be gone. She was their leader. And most importantly, she protected the South Pillar.

“Has Drifter raised the Pillar yet?” shouted Sorcerer through the comm.

“No,” came the response, seconds later, filling Sorcerer with a momentary relief—until he realized what the Drifter must be doing. They wanted to find four modules before raising the Pillar, obviously. That meant that Sorcerer and Summoner were no longer safe. Well. At least they had a chance to kill the Drifter.

The Sorcerer opened a comm to Summoner’s room. “It’s down to us, now, buddy. You ready?”

Silence. For a second the Sorcerer assumed the comm wasn’t working, but then he detected the ambient hum of Summoner’s room. The comm was working fine. But Summoner didn’t seem to be there. Or, if he was, he wasn’t answering.

“Summoner?” he called, louder. Nothing.

He changed tack, now sending a message to the central Southern intercom. “Has anyone seen the Summoner?”

 _In Reaper’s room_ , said a bladebot.

 _Taking a warp pad to the North_ , came the harsh, gravelly voice of a dirk rifleman.

 _The Drifter is on their way to the Sorcerer’s room_ , chimed in a third.

What did Summoner think he was doing?? Sorcerer wanted to scream into the intercom, but knew that Summoner wouldn’t be able to hear him. If he was in the North, he’d be cut off from the rest of them.

The Sorcerer tried his best to push down his rising panic. Well. He could distract the Drifter until Summoner’s return. At least, so he hoped.

 *

It was impossible to enter the Reaper’s room and not notice the evidence of a recent fight. The walls were branded with scorch marks, and every object in the vicinity was smashed up beyond recognition.

And of course, there was the tattered purple cloak, soaked in pink blood, lying on the floor like an inappropriately vibrant shroud. Covering up what remained of the Reaper’s fractured body. The Summoner couldn’t bring himself to look underneath.

“Why would the Drifter kill you?” he asked. The cloak made no reply.

But the answer was obvious, wasn’t it. The Drifter needed to get to the modules, and would wipe out anything in their path to reach that goal. They needed the modules because they needed to get to the Immortal Cell. And they needed to get to the Immortal Cell because… well, Summoner didn’t know. He knew it had something to do with their illness. And perhaps the black dog that he’d seen sometimes out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps they had some sort of end goal that justified all this destruction.

Did they even know who they were killing? They’d never met the Reaper. They didn’t know a thing about him. That must’ve made him easier to kill—just assuming he was another mindless robot, another experiment….

Summoner paused. Remembered his last conversation with the Reaper. A robot. Maybe Reaper’s consciousness had indeed been stored in the network, like he’d speculated.

The chance was small, but at least there was a chance. Summoner left the room quickly. He knew exactly where to go.

 *

The Library was dead silent. The Summoner remembered the days when it would be filled up with new converts to the Hierophant’s cult, rifling through the pages of centuries-old books. Back then, the space had a more organic quality—light was allowed in through windows, and students quietly murmured to each other. Now, all the entrances were blocked off. The corpses of a couple Vulture Acolytes were strewn about the place, as still as the hall in which they lay. Not even flies had found their way in here.

Summoner floated through the piles and piles of books until he reached the shelf he was looking for. These books contained the collected knowledge of the Librarians, who had built the Immortal Cell and all the creatures of the South. Including Summoner. And Reaper. He really wasn’t supposed to be reading this. But to hell with it—he was probably going to die anyway. He just needed to know if he would be able to see Reaper again, in some other state of consciousness.

The books were dusty and made a crackling sound when Summoner opened them. A dead spider dropped out of one. He skimmed through them, robotic heart accelerating. There wasn’t much time. He had to do this fast.

He flipped to the page on the creation of the Sentients, and began to read.

 *

When the Summoner returned to the South, one of the books from the Library tucked under his arm, it was as eerily silent as the North had been. Oh no. Had the Drifter done something while he was gone?

There was a flurry of movement at the end of the corridor. Summoner hurried over. It was a lone bladebot, patrolling the area.

“Where’s Sorcerer?” was his first question.

“The Sorcerer is dead.” The bladebot’s voice was almost painfully mechanical.

“And—and the Drifter?”

“The Drifter has returned to Central to upgrade their weaponry.”

At least he had some time. “Have they found four modules? Or raised the Pillar?”

“Negative.”

Had he been a living being, Summoner might’ve sighed with relief. Maybe he did have a chance after all.

Once the bladebot left to patrol other parts of the chamber, the Summoner opened up the book he’d brought with him. There on the fourth page was a carefully-inscribed map of the South, complete with all the nooks and crannies that he knew so well. But there was also an area right in the center that Summoner hadn’t even known existed. The Central Computer, the room was labelled. With luck, he could find it.

 *

When Summoner emerged from the labyrinth of tunnels, he was surprised to see how small the room was. Brilliant pink tubes ran up and down the walls, and a single computer console was attached to the wall. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. Summoner thumbed through the book for instructions, then activated the console. It was slow to awaken from its years and years of sleep, but finally the screen flickered on. A dim yellow glow against bright pink. Antiquated symbols.

If the Summoner had had more time, he might’ve wanted to browse through the computer’s entire library. It contained all the knowledge of the Northern Library and more—even the original source code for the Sentients. And, Summoner hoped, recent backups.

But when he tried to open the file—he was sure it was the right one—an error message blared across the screen. ACCESS DENIED.

Summoner seized the book and searched its pages. Was there some sort of passcode? A hack? He just needed to know if Reaper was all right—was that too much to ask?

 _Alert._ The voice on the intercom rang in Summoner’s head like a death knell. _The Drifter has entered the chamber adjacent to Summoner’s. Request—_

The comm crackled, and then was silent. The dirk who’d sent the message must be dead. Summoner stood, frozen in place. His time was up.

 *

The Drifter ran down the stairs and entered into a large room. Sure enough, there was a module on the floor. Perfect.

The Summoner was only just in time. He reached the room just as the Drifter was tugging on the fake module. It gave easily. Too easily.

As soon as Drifter had pulled up the module, they could tell that something was wrong. Summoner sprung out, unfolding himself fully and leaping at the Drifter. They crashed to the ground. _That’s what you get for killing my best friend._

Drifter ran across the room. Summoner followed, his five robotic minions drifting out of his chest and flooding the arena with pink square projectiles. Somehow, the Drifter managed to dash through them unscathed. They fired a couple blasts of energy at the Summoner. One hit him right in the chest; another destroyed one of his robots. He felt a ping in his mind as it died.

The Summoner flew towards Drifter and slammed into them, full-force. A green haze shimmered around them as they regenerated from the attack, then they lunged forward and struck the Summoner. Again. And again. His robots let out another slew of projectiles. He wouldn’t let this Drifter defeat him. He couldn’t.

But at the end of the day, Summoner was one of the weaker bosses of the South. And the Drifter could both dash through and deflect his volley of projectiles. He could feel himself running out of strength, pink blood dripping onto the floor. Blood that was the same color as the Reaper’s. And the Drifter’s, too.

Maybe in those final seconds, the Summoner could’ve spoken to them. Just asked them who they were. What they were doing. Why they felt a need to massacre the creatures of every region they stepped foot in. But they probably didn’t even speak the same language.

The Drifter stood above his body, simply watching him. Orange eye met black eyes.

The light of Summoner’s eye flickered, and died.

 *

There was silence, but it was a different kind of silence. Not the silence of stillness, the silence of nothingness. A void.

 _Reaper?_ thought the Summoner instantly.

 _Here_ , came a message that wasn’t from his brain.

_Where?_

_Just… here. Welcome to the backup files of the Librarians’ network._

Intangible relief washed over Summoner. _And Archer? Sorcerer?_

_They’re here somewhere. You can talk to them. This comm is just between us, though._

_Are you okay?_

_I’m…_ Reaper paused. _Well. Depends what you mean by “okay.” My body is dead. We’re just hanging on thanks to a glitchy old computer. I’m surprised we’re even talking at all._

 _I’m glad that we can have a last moment together,_ said the Summoner.

_Last?_

_Well, we didn’t defeat the Drifter, did we? They’re going to go fight Judgement. If the Immortal Cell is destroyed… who knows what’ll happen to us._

Summoner felt a sensation on his nonexistent shoulder. It was as if the Reaper had put a gentle hand there.

_Let’s not think about that now. I’m glad to have you back._

_Me too._

**Author's Note:**

> we know that the south bosses are called the Sentients because that's the name of the music that plays during their fights!


End file.
